


Irreconcilable

by tiffany rawlins (wearemany), wearemany



Series: The Long Run [3]
Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-24
Updated: 2002-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/tiffany%20rawlins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before The Long Run.</p><p>You have a limited window of opportunity to change the things that last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irreconcilable

**Author's Note:**

> ETA 6/09: of anything i've ever written, i'd say this has the most questionable content for people who are triggered by sexual assault. it's very much a story about addiction -- sexual, chemical, situational -- and it does deliberately and explicitly push/blur/explore the lines around what constitutes consensual and certainly enjoyable sex in an existing relationship. i'm not sure i'd write/post it as-is today because it seems a little overly wallowy H/C.

Justin wakes up and Lance is fucking him, so it must be morning.

Most mornings when Justin doesn't have an early call, Lance wakes him up and fucks him. Justin tries to remember when it started, when he got used to easing into consciousness with Lance's teeth on the back of his neck or his tongue wet and warm at the base of his spine or his dick already tight inside. It seems like it's always been that way.

He's sure that at some point Lance must have asked, but the thing about being with someone forever is that conversations like that happen, things get decided, and then they just are. It's like giving up your ground on how to sing a chorus and ten years later the song sounds just the same on the CD. It just is. You have a limited window of opportunity to change the things that last forever.

They still have sex almost every day. Hands down, it's definitely the best thing about being with a guy, the kind of thing that makes his life make sense to the guys he knows who don't think sucking cock is all that fun. Yeah, he'll say, but when was the last time you could fuck her just because you felt like it, without feeling guilty or having to talk her into it or buy flowers after? Guys get that.

The sex in the morning doesn't end all that differently than sex they have any other time of day, except Lance is always the one to start it. Lance decides what he wants while Justin blinks his eyes open and tries to remember what day it is. He's pretty sure it's Tuesday.

Lance comes with a grunt, and before Justin can even get his knees under him, Lance is turning him over and finishing him off with a strong, fast hand. Justin sprawls on his back as Lance gets up and walks into the bathroom. He comes halfway back to the bed and tosses a warm, wet washcloth at Justin's chest. Justin drifts off again until Lance presses a hard kiss to his shoulder, pulling the terrycloth out of Justin's clenched hand.

"Don't forget to go through those scripts," Lance starts, and Justin tunes him out because Lance is always leaving him some kind of instructions, but he knows Justin well enough to have an assistant call around noon and tell him again.

Justin rolls his face into the pillow, sheets slung low beneath his ass like an invitation. Lance closes the door behind him and drives to his office or a meeting or some set somewhere. Justin doesn't really mind. Lance gets mornings. Justin gets everything else. It works out to about equal.

*

There's maybe going to be a Teamsters' strike and everyone's working like crazy or not at all through the end of a long, hot summer. This woman who did makeup on a pilot Justin filmed last month told him about this dive karaoke bar on Sunset. Lance says he'll come by after closing a deal and in the meantime Justin's just enjoying being pleasantly stoned and drinking cheap beer.

He ran into this guy John, John something, who he knows from a TV movie, at the health food store that afternoon. John is trying to get the bartender, this chick with a really wicked tattoo all around her neck and down into the front of her shirt, to turn on the Dodgers. "It's not that kind of bar," she says, twice, and finally John shrugs and walks back to Justin with his Budweiser.

Lance never shows up and after singing four or five songs and dancing around a little, Justin bails. He's sitting up in bed watching Leno when Lance gets home.

"Jesus, Justin, do you ever wear clothes anymore?" Lance unbuttons his shirt halfway, pulls it over his head and throws it on the floor of the closet.

Justin scratches his chest. "Well, not in my own fucking bed I don't. Where were you?"

Lance doesn't answer, just walks to the minibar by the window and makes himself a drink. He doesn't ask Justin whether he wants one. Justin turns up the volume on the TV and Leno makes a joke about the president's daughter and everyone laughs. Lance finishes the drink in one long swallow and fixes another.

Justin kicks the sheets to the end of the bed. "So did she at least sign the contract?"

Lance tips his chin to his chest, holding the glass against his stomach. "Yeah," he says.

"Then what are you being such an asshole about?"

Lance licks his lips and Justin wants whatever they're fighting about to be over so they can fuck. In bed, Lance never takes his eyes off Justin, never even closes them all the way except right when he comes.

"I guess at a certain point taking off your pants in public becomes less memorable. Even for you."

Lance is drunk, was drunk already when he got home if he's this mean out of the gate. These days it usually takes them a little while to get the fire lit.

"You don't want me to sleep naked anymore?" Justin spreads his legs a little and slouches down onto the pillows. "I thought you liked it when --"

"Christ, you don't even know what I'm talking about."

And then Justin remembers, something shimmery and vague and he was singing "Heartbreak Hotel" and whatever-his-name-was, John whatever, laughed like a hyena when Justin got up on the table to dance. Then it's possible he dropped his drawers for a little while. It's possible someone else saw that.

Lance tosses back the rest of his drink and sits on the foot of the bed. Justin could reach out and touch his hip with his toe if he wanted. "Ryan probably called you right away to tell you," he says instead. Justin thinks a lot about whether Lance and his production partner are fucking, except he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.

"He didn't have to. Someone called Julie to see if I would comment."

"Oh," Justin says, looking down at his stomach. "What did you want to say?"

"That where my boyfriend takes off his clothes is clearly no business of mine anymore. Don't worry, though. At this point I think people have come to expect worse from you."

"If they only knew." Justin sounds more bitter than he thought he was. "I mean --"

"I know what you meant," Lance says, and he stands up again, kicking his pants onto the pile of clothes. He has to steady himself for a second with one hand braced on the doorframe. He's really wasted and Justin can just barely remember being fourteen and laughing as Lance did three shots on a dare from Joey.

"Just come to bed," Justin says, and turns away, onto his side.

Lance flips off the lights and Justin can hear him stumble, tripping on his own feet or the thick carpet. The bed dips when he reaches out to find his way in the dark. He climbs in with a sigh, like he's home after a long trip, and presses his wet face and warm lips to Justin's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers, damp and dusky in Justin's ear.

Justin pushes his body back, holds Lance's head to his neck until Lance sucks sloppy kisses down his throat and rolls him onto his back. Lance's dick is soft and heavy against Justin's thigh and Justin hasn't been buzzed for hours but he's been getting hard since Lance took off his shirt.

Lance spreads his hands wide and pushes his thumbs down the line of Justin's ribs, fingers curving down and around Justin's waist. Even three sheets to the wind Lance gives head like no one Justin has ever known. That much isn't ever going to change.


End file.
